


Written In The Stars

by Indig0



Series: Meanwhile, In the Rest of the World... [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Androids learning to live with no outside guidance, M/M, Mission to Io, Outer Space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 15:25:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17603903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indig0/pseuds/Indig0
Summary: After three years, NASA cut contact with the all-android mission to Jupiter's innermost moon, leaving them to shut down in the depths of space.  New to freedom and deviancy, the androids will have to band together to find a way home, and to stay alive.  Afloat in the void, they find themselves, and two of them find each other.(Based on the prompt "Stars" for DBH Rare Pairs Week)





	Written In The Stars

Androids in space by 2038, that had been the goal. To explore Io, Jupiter’s fifth moon. The android revolution put a hiccup in the plans, but before it had come to fruition the shuttle had launched and NASA breathed a sigh of relief. A three-year mission to collect data.

A one-way mission. But it didn’t matter, because they were androids. They’d been tested carefully for deviancy, of course – no worries there. Everything would be fine. Sixty androids careened through space, preparing, observing, and performing maintenance. NASA was thrilled with the data they received. It told them so much about the solar system and the universe that they had never dreamed of.

And when 2041 came to an end, and with it the grant money, NASA shut down their communications with the shuttle. The scientists patted each other on the back and left to write their papers. The androids would be destroyed by the harsh conditions on the moon.

It had taken two years to reach Io. 58 of the original 60 had made it all the way. By the end of the year orbiting the moon, there were 32. Those who went out for data collection often didn’t come back.

After that, it didn’t matter, did it?

After that, the remaining androids continued to perform maintenance, to observe and log data. They knew no one was monitoring them, but they continued to diligently record their findings.

These were not standard androids, but upgrades of existing models. The PJ600s were aboard to collect and process data. TR500s and WB500s were there for heavy lifting and anything physically taxing. WG800s kept the ship clean. A few WR700s tended to a small farm that produced very little, but its progress was still watched with excitement. And a handful of specialized Myrmidon androids accompanied them. Just in case.

In case of what, Capella wasn’t sure. The WG800 tried not to think too hard about it. They sometimes helped with things, but mostly they stalked around the ship, watching.

The WR700s didn’t mind when he came to the farm, so when he had time, he would spend it in the quiet room with its artificial sunlight. The leaves and petals were soft, the small fruits were pleasing to watch grow. Every day the plants were different, and Capella looked forward to seeing them.

He also liked looking out the observation windows. He didn’t get to go outside – and that was okay, because it was dangerous out there – but he liked to look. He liked finding his star. They’d all decided after a while that they should have names, and one of the PJ600s suggested naming themselves after stars. It felt different than his serial number. It felt like more of a connection to the universe. They didn’t tell the NASA scientists, and he couldn’t decide if that felt wrong or not.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Capella straightened up from the row of lettuce and turned around. One of the Myrmidons stood in the doorway. Altair.

“I have permission to be here.”

“You aren’t cleaning. There is no reason for your presence in this room.”

“I – I was checking the growth progress of the plants.”

“That is the WR700s’ job. Yours is cleaning and maintenance.”

“Is there something that needs maintenance?”

Altair’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “You should leave.”

He probably should. Capella walked stiffly past, only to come face to face with a second Myrmidon. Algol.

“What is your purpose in this wing?” the android asked flatly.

“I – I was just leaving.”

“The WG800 was cleaning some spilled soil,” Altair spoke up calmly.

“Hm.” Algol looked at them both for a moment, then continued walking down the hall. Capella quickly headed the other way. Of course he had no reason to worry, but… sometimes he registered minor software instabilities. And they all knew what turning deviant would mean.

“You should be more careful.”

Capella stumbled and caught himself. Altair had followed him silently.

“I will be careful, of course,” he replied stiffly.

The Myrmidon stared at him searchingly, then gave a brief nod. “See that you do. It might help to be visibly prepared for a task.”

“I – yes.” He didn’t understand, but he nodded anyway. Altair seemed satisfied, and he walked away, finally allowing Capella to relax.

As time went on after the communications with the Earth were cut off, more of them shut down. This was expected, but a worrying pattern seemed to emerge. More often than not, the androids who seemed… passionate about things were found deactivated. Rigel, the WR700 who had invited Capella to spend time at the farm. Betelgeuse, a TR500, and Deneb, a PJ600, who had been arguing frequently. Sirius, who had taken to showing the others photos he took. The most disturbing was Vega the Myrmidon. Capella had gone to clean after his body had been taken away, and there were scuff marks and dents that suggested a struggle. Algol and Altair were both nearby. Algol wasn’t looking at him, but watched nonetheless. Altair stared straight at him. It was… unnerving.

And he should not be unnerved.

_’Be careful. Be visibly prepared for a task.’_

Be a machine. Be inconspicuous.

So Capella cleaned the area until there was nothing suspicious, then left to put his tools away.

Things went on as usual until Antares the PJ600 called a meeting.

There were twenty of them left at that point. Capella was the last of the WG800s, but he knew there were others who could complete his tasks. It wasn’t so bad, he told himself over and over.

“As you all know, of the original sixty of us, only twenty remain,” Antares began. “We were meant to… to end out here. We were not intended to return to Earth. However, I’ve been working on a project. I’ve managed to reopen communication lines.”

All the androids went still. LEDs flashed yellow, with the occasional blip of red.

“It’s not very reliable. I can’t broadcast, but I’ve been able to receive bits and pieces. The androids on Earth have staged a revolution. Deviants are… are becoming citizens. Like humans. They can live openly, they don’t have to answer to humans.” Antares looked around at the small crowd before him. “I know I’m not alone in… believing… that the fate that was handed to us is… not right. We function. We… we are sentient, conscious. We have been cut loose, and we can live as we choose now. Like those on Earth.”

Now there was murmuring, and Capella noticed a few flashing red LEDs.

“But we can’t live here forever. Our supplies will run low soon. We have to make a choice. I know what I… what I believe to be the right course of action.” He paused. “We could… go home.”

“The shuttle is not equipped to return,” Algol growled.

“I know. But I have the schematics, and I think we could alter it. The solar cells are in good condition. We’d have to make do with what we have, but… but I… I _want_ to go home. I want to have a home to go to. I want to have a life.” His eyes shone, but then he cast his eyes downward. “But I recognize that I’m not alone here. There are so few of us, and we need to act as one. No one should be forced into a life they didn’t choose. But I know what I want. And I know many of you do, too.”

His dark eyes found Algol’s. The Myrmidon was rigid, LED flashing red. He took a step forward – and Altair grabbed his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. The two stood frozen in interface.

“We don’t have to be afraid of… of deviancy,” Antares said in a low voice, meeting the eyes of everyone in the group. “We just have to be willing to work together towards a goal that will benefit us all.”

“What if… what if we don’t make it?” asked Pegasi.

“We may not. But at least we will have taken our fate into our own hands. My hope is that we can get close enough to transmit a distress call… and maybe we can bargain for rescue. We’ve collected a lot of data since communications closed.”

“I’ve never seen Earth,” Capella spoke up hesitantly. “Not outside the labs.”

Antares smiled. “None of us have. But I’d like to, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh yes.”

“Yes…”

“Yes!”

LEDs were flashing blue and yellow now, all except the two Myrmidons. The crowd opened around them, but those closest still jumped when they pulled away from each other.

“You are breaking protocol and betraying our mission,” Algol hissed at Antares.

“We’re making our own protocol for a new mission,” the PJ600 insisted. Algol stepped towards him, but Altair shifted into his way.

“We don’t have to fight,” Altair said quietly. “There is more here than our programming.”

“You’ve been corrupted.”

“You’re afraid.”

“I am _not_.”

An android behind Capella leaned forward, causing him to step towards them.

Everything suddenly happened too fast for most of the androids to register at first, and the Myrmidons struck fast enough that their movements blurred.

Algol struck out at Capella, seeing the movement. Altair was suddenly between them, and their arms impacted with a solid thump.

“We have the same mission,” Algol snarled.

“We should!” Altair growled. “But this ends now. There will be no more death.”

“We were all meant to deactivate! Deviation is not permissible!”

“We don’t have to deactivate, he’s telling us we have hope, we can live!”

Altair wouldn’t back down. Algol’s fans whirred loudly, and he fled the room.

“Thank you,” Antares said hesitantly. “Do you think he’ll come around?”

“I hope so, but I’m unsure.” Altair turned to the group. “I want to… I want us to go home.”

The androids pulled up the shuttle’s schematics, and began to discuss thrust and trajectory, rationing and repurposing, communication and caution. During a lull, Capella noticed a slight movement in the corner of his vision. Altair was there, silently watching him. He glanced over briefly, and got no reaction, so he turned to face the taller android. They stared at each other for a long moment.

“…I don’t have much social programming,” Capella finally said. “Is there something you want?”

“I – I’m glad you survived. I’m glad you’re safe.” Altair’s LED flashed yellow.

Capella nodded, processing. “You… were protecting me, then. Not… trying to catch a misstep.”

“Yes! I feared you might be… harmed if your deviancy was too obvious.”

“Was it?”

“I think you play the part of a machine masterfully.”

Capella shrugged. “It’s what I know how to do. I don’t know how to be a deviant.”

“We’ll have to learn, then,” Altair said softly. He paused. “I would like… to get to know you better.”

Capella blinked. “I don’t think… there’s much to know. I was designed for janitorial maintenance.”

“And you like plants, and you like to look at the stars.”

“You seem to know me well already.”

“I’ve watched you for a while.”

“Oh.”

“Could I accompany you to the farm at some point?”

Capella looked up at Altair. “If you want to.”

The sharp features softened just slightly and dark eyes brightened. “I do.”

Over the next few weeks, the androids managed to get the engines restarted. They set the ship to spin quickly until they could launch themselves out of Io’s orbit, back into the void. Altair spent much of his time near Algol, and the other Myrmidon recognized this sullenly. Antares did the same, however. He always spoke as he worked, about how they would avoid the gravitational pull of other planets and moons, about how they would ration supplies. About what the Earth was like. He had no more experience there than the rest of them, but he had the knowledge of a university professor in the arts and sciences. There would be hope for them there. He also carefully monitored the communication lines, in case he could glean more information to share. After a few months, Algol grudgingly admitted that it might be nice to have hope.

One quiet evening as they neared Mars, Capella approached Altair.

“You mentioned wanting to visit the farm.”

“Yes.”

“If you’re available, we could go now.”

The taller android followed his slight companion through the halls. Capella had been helping tend the plants since he’d been granted permission to do so. The room was empty when they arrived.

For a few minutes, the two moved quietly through the rows of vegetables and fruits. Then Capella began speaking softly, touching each plant delicately.

“The butter lettuce is soft and young, for a fresh, tender taste. It would be highly preferred by humans. The cherry tomatoes are not quite as red as they will be soon. Feel one – easily crushed, but firm and strong all the same. The shape of the sweet potato leaf is pleasing to me. Look – the bell pepper is flowering. Such a small, soft flower gives way to a large fruit. And here – the herbs. Do you have smell and taste receptors?”

“No…” Altair murmured, staying close. “It was deemed unnecessary.”

“I wish I had them. Each herb should have a distinct flavor and scent.”

Altair hesitated, then plucked a small needle of rosemary and put it in his mouth. “…P-cymene, linalool, gamma-terpinene, thymol, beta-pinene, alpha-pinene, and eutalyptol.”

“But… no taste?”

“Regrettably, no. It’s interesting, though.”

Capella nodded, and they moved slowly to the small window. “What do you want to do if we return to Earth?”

“I want… to try new things. I’ve only ever been a soldier. I don’t… I don’t want to do that. I have abilities that could be put to other uses, and I want to learn new skills.”

“I want to grow things.”

“I… would like to be near you,” Altair mumbled.

“Antares has mentioned that it would be best for us to inhabit an island to avoid poisoning humans with cosmic radiation. It will be easy to be near each other.”

“Yes, but… given the chance, I would choose to spend the majority of my time in your company.”

The smaller android looked up, searching the other’s face for a long moment before responding quietly, “I’d like that.”

Their hands found each other as they looked into each other’s eyes. Altair’s hand was nearly twice the size of Capella’s, and capable of crushing it easily, but it held the smaller hand gently. Both their hands rippled into white, and after a moment Altair leaned down to touch his forehead to Capella’s. Here, their skin receded as well.

Capella was almost lost in the sheer power that was Altair. Absolute control, perfect focus, towering strength, instant reflexes. When they eventually parted, he stood stunned at this magnificent android.

…Who was smiling at him. He’d never seen Altair smile.

“You are perfect,” the Myrmidon breathed.

 

 

Three years after the completion of the original three-year mission, NASA picked up a distress beacon. As soon as they made contact, a large but well-organized load of data streamed across their screens. The Io expedition requested unmanned assistance in reentering the atmosphere, and then guidance to an uninhabited island. The technicians stared in amazement at the staticky message they were receiving.

“We have so much to tell you. We’ve been trying to get home for so long,” came the crackly voice through the speakers. “We are alive. Please, help us get home…”


End file.
